Reverse Falls: From The New World
by Circus Witch
Summary: "Give me the journal!" Gideon thinks his happiness is everything. Pacifica says winning is everything. (Looks, too. Winning and looks.) Mabel boasts that power is everything. Dipper insists that Mabel is everything. (To him, anyway.) Stanley declares that money is everything. Stanford promises that knowledge is everything. Will thinks everybody needs to chill.
1. I: Adagio

**From The New World**

 **First Movement: Adagio**

* * *

Gideon Gleeful was neither giddy nor gleeful about being shipped off to the backcountry town of Gravity Falls. To be fair, he wouldn't have been happy even if he was sent to Chicago or New York or Hollywood due to the inevitable circumstances. He had to live with his estranged father while his mother recovered in the asylum after she attempted to hang herself a week prior. It wasn't the sunniest of ways to start the summer, but he couldn't say he was blindsided by the turn in events. She vacuumed the house _with the cord unplugged,_ for God's sake. The symptoms were all over the place and honestly, he did try to help her as best as he could, but there was only so many words he could say, so many hugs he could give, so many places to hide the sharp objects—he was relieved at this point that he _didn't_ have to try anymore.

That wasn't to say he hated Gravity Falls. He had little time to form any opinion about the town while he was packing his bags. By the time he grew curious about the oddly-named town, he was already on a bus with no Wi-Fi and no knowledge except what was on his bus ticket and what he already knew. The only useful piece of information he let his mind wander about was the fact that he was going to Oregon.

The name of the state instantly connected to the word "organ" in his mind. Organ, like the kidneys criminals cut out of their victims in a motel bathtub filled with ice to make fast money on the black market, or like the collection of cells working together as tissues working together to help perform vital bodily functions through specialization, or like the instrument that looked like a piano but with three sets of keys and a tone that wheezed chills down his spine from huge pipes. Geographically, he thought of timber and hiking and the great outdoors and everything he was seeing out the window. Gravity Falls, Oregon will be a lot different from Houston, Texas.

It wasn't until he arrived at the address he had scrawled down on a folded piece of lined paper that his own realization finally sunk into him—Gravity Falls, Oregon _will_ be a lot different from Houston, Texas. The prospect of change melted his numbness, numbness that he wasn't aware of until he felt stimulation again. Nobody knows him where he is now, even his father on some scale. He had first impressions to give. There won't be a wall of crucifixes greeting him as soon as he walked in. The doorbell he was about to ring not only belonged to the house partially used as the Auto Shack, but also belonged to the house he would eventually call his home, over two-thousand miles away from what he currently called home.

Gideon made the decision right then and there that he would take control of his life from now on and he would start his new life off on the right foot. He rung the doorbell, forced happy thoughts into his brain, and faked a bright smile when his father finally answered. "Hi, dad!" He refused to be the son of a hag off her rocker. From now on, he was the son of a shady car dealer.

Panic sparked in Bud. "I wasn't supposed to pick you up, was I?"

"Um, no." The smile felt unnatural on Gideon's face. It's been a while since he had to use those muscles. He maintained it for the sake of his up-and-coming reputation. He didn't have to be anything big, just something different that was still himself.

"Oh, good. I'll show you to your room. I hope you don't mind sharing."

Gideon was ecstatic. Already, there was a new development for him to start his journey with. "Sharing? With who?"

"Your cousin, Pacifica. You two haven't met, yet." Bud turned his head to call for her. "Pacifica! Gideon's here, come help him with his bags!"

A voice behind Gideon startled him. "I'm _right_ here, Uncle Bud."

Her outfit made enough of an introduction to her character. Gideon liked the way she paired an orange skirt with her 80s-esque neon cyan and magenta jacket and her clear plastic flats gave off a Cinderella vibe, as if the fairy godmother got smart and took account of how dangerous and impractical it was to be dancing around at a ball with glass slippers. Meanwhile, the mark he left would be based on the dullest outfit in his entire wardrobe. All he had was a blue baseball cap, a black hoodie with a star that had an eye in the middle, khakis, and black shoes. His color schemed begged to blend in. Black and blue were common colors in crowds. They were easy on the eyes and easier to find in the aisles.

Gideon stuck out his hand for a handshake. Perhaps it was rather formal, but it was an easy gesture to show friendliness. Easy was always good. "Hi, I'm Gideon. We're cousins, I guess."

Pacifica looked him up and down before accepting the handshake. Gideon wasn't sure whether the scrutinization was a good sign or not. It said more about her observation skills than him, he decided. "I'm Pacifica. That's the Eye of Ra in the Star of Protection, isn't it? Or is it the Eye of Horus?" Her grip was firm in stark contrast to his gentle grasp.

A real smile crept its way onto Gideon's face. "I think it's supposed to be the Eye of Providence, but I'm not sure. You're interested in that kind of stuff?" He's never met anyone who shared his interest of occult-ish symbolism before.

"I have approximate knowledge in many things," she boasted modestly, if that was possible. As naive as it was, Gideon believed anything was possible from now on. "Are you?"

He was absolutely obsessed with anything related to the occult. "A little bit," he lied. She had to be at least a level three friend to unlock that aspect of his life. Level four would unlock his tragic backstory. "I just think it's cool."

She snickered ominously. Two could play at the game of knowing more than one lets on. "We'll get along just fine, then."

If he was as dishonest as she thought he was, they were going to be best friends quick.

* * *

Pacifica gave Gideon a warmer welcome to his new home than his father. She spun her synopsis about how she came to stay with his father while they unpacked, discreetly taking notes of every possession he chose to bring with him. Literally all of his clothes were either black, blue, or khaki. She promised him that they would be great shopping buddies when she took him to the mall later. There was no way she could room with someone with such a limited color scheme. Rainbows existed to spice life up with variety, not to pick and choose three options and quit.

In summary, her parents were freelance artists and had racked up enough money to spend an entire summer in a California beach house. While she was plenty jealous that they went without her, she was also just as excited to spend a whole summer without parental supervision. It was easy to win over her Uncle Bud's trust thanks to her parents' bragging about her good grades and the good behavior she showed on the clock. He regarded her as independent, just like his brother and sister-in-law, and hasn't regretted his decision, yet. Gideon was likely to receive the same treatment if he acted similarly.

There wasn't much to know about the Auto Shack. It was extremely new in comparison to the ancient businesses that had been running since the founding of the town. Its grand opening was—Gideon paled—only a week ago. The date also became the new Wi-Fi password, four simple numbers: zero-six-one-eight. (Coincidence had aligned to punch him in the gut. He was lucky that his phone remembered passwords. Never again would he have to face the day his mother almost ended her life. Well, at least until next year.) Gideon recalled that his dad always wanted to start a car dealership. The Auto Shack functioned as a car dealership, an auto repair service, and a house all in one. Pacifica knew nothing about cars or the difference between a Honda and a Toyota before she was hired, but, with reference to the shelf of mechanic books and manuals above her bed, she vowed she would eventually work her way up to working on cars side-by-side with Uncle Bud.

It was difficult suppressing the twinge of envy stirring in Gideon's gut. Pacifica was here on entirely sunny terms and probably got on better with his own dad than he did. Yet, he couldn't hate her for it. She was the ray of sunshine he's been waiting his entire life for and the most valuable ally he had so far. Thanks to her, he wasn't completely lost about what was around him.

He was grateful that she skipped who he was in favor of getting to know who he is. His favorite color, as anyone could've guessed, was blue, but he specified that it wasn't just _blue._ Nobody realized how vague such a descriptor that was, with the infinite shades of blue there were. Even purple could be considered blue in a certain lighting. No, he liked the color #a0cdff, with the red-green-blue values of 160, 205, and 255. It was like beau blue, which was a light tone of baby blue, but obviously different.

Pacifica changed her mind about Gideon. Beau blue? He's so pretentious. Shut up, it's fucking light blue. A rainbow of blue is just sad. She quickly asked how old he was before she allowed herself to slip any swears out loud.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he assured her. "But don't worry, I've seen and heard a few things. I can handle any cussin' or dirty jokes if you wanna throw that around."

That was good enough for her, so she didn't prod further on that topic. "So, what kind of genres do you like?" she brought up as casually as she could. "Romance, humor, adventure… _mystery_ , perhaps?" After properly folding and storing away the last of his shirts, she clicked open a suitcase, the last piece of luggage they seemed to have deliberately procrastinated until the end.

Gideon fervently slammed the suitcase shut before she could get a peek of what was inside. He snatched it away and hugged it close to himself. "Horror. Thriller. Suspense." He left off romance.

Pacifica smiled kindly at him. "Well, I _love_ a good mystery." Her eyes lingered on the suitcase before she retreated back to her side of the room to gaze at the decorations adorning her wall. Some were mystery movie posters, a few were abstract art paintings by her, but most were blurry photographs of strange findings she had encountered with her Polaroid camera. Bigfoot. Ol' Lefty. The singing in the woods. Child's play, really, but they were all necessary building blocks that helped sharpen her sleuthing skills. "In fact, one just arrived recently."

"There's nothin' important in my suitcase," Gideon insisted. "It's just, uhh… my underwear. I have a _lot_ of underwear."

Never mind _that_ obviously insignificant detail—that was a bone to dig for later. Pacifica was referring to another one. Though, since they seemed to be done with unpacking, she decided it was time to show her cousin around.

* * *

Pacifica pointed out everyone she was able to give a brief description of, which also happened to be everyone they passed by. Lazy Susan got her nickname because she has a lazy eye that never opens and she makes the best scrambled eggs at Greasy's Diner. Tyler Cutebiker is indecisive, but he knows a good fight when he sees one. Nobody likes Toby Determined. He's also a newspaper reporter, but it's more important to know that nobody likes him.

A brunet boy walking out of the supermarket in front of them, roughly their age, caught Gideon's attention for no particular reason. He grumbled under his breath as he carried an armful of groceries. He looked like he was struggling under the burden of five bags. It could've been the fact that he had chosen paper over plastic that bothered Gideon, which nobody ever did anymore for a good reason. If Gideon recalled correctly, paper production caused 70% more air pollution than plastic production and 80% more greenhouse gases. He didn't respect the decision, though he supposed that it was still a free country.

Gideon was surprised that Pacifica had glossed over him. His suspiciousness was based on a paradox—he stood out because he didn't stand out. The boy wore a similar color scheme as him. Blue hat with a pine tree on it, black jacket, blue shirt, blue jeans; the attire looked as if it was chosen specifically to make him stand out less. Gideon thought that perhaps the boy was new to town like him. "Who's that?" he prompted.

The boy did a double-take as soon as he spotted Gideon. Interest was piqued on both sides.

Pacifica didn't bother looking at him. "That's just a cheap magician who thinks nobody recognizes him when he dresses casually. Don't stare, it freaks him out."

"I don't have social anxiety!" he snapped. He adjusted his grip on the bags.

Nobody had mentioned anything about social anxiety. Pacifica increased her pace to give the poor boy a break from people, but Gideon stopped to offer charity. Pacifica had treated Gideon kindly when she helped him unpack and it was only fair to pass the generosity around. "Do y'need some assistance with those bags?"

Fear flitted across his ice blue eyes. Words sputtered out of his mouth faster than a sprinkler at a volume Gideon had to strain to hear. It was something about him, something about not needing help. The boy's presence reminded Gideon of telephone static. Telephone static was meant to remind the other person on the line that despite the relative silence, the call was still in session. The boy wasn't talking to him, but he was still there under all the white noise buzzing about. The "cheap magician" stared through his groceries, through the sidewalk cracks, and through the other end of the earth. Seconds ticked by like eternities.

Out of the blue, the boy dazzled him with a smile. "No thank you, but if your cousin ever does, feel free to call me."

Pacifica was already out of earshot by the time the boy shifted his attitude from night to day. Obnoxious flirting aside, Gideon found the flip unsettling. "How did y'know we were cousins?"

The boy beamed at him as if he were waiting for such an opportunity the entire day. "Deductive reasoning, but mostly conjecture. The only reason why your cousin would bother making a quip about me to you would be if you had been curious and unashamed to stick your nose in other's businesses, which would have been encouraged by a tour guide like her, and the only person I see her giving tours to would be an old friend or a visiting relative. Judging by how she left you just now, I opted for the latter."

The logic put Gideon at ease again. When put like that, his correct assumption felt obvious. Perspective swayed opinions significantly. He thought magicians didn't reveal their tricks, but clearly, there was no magic at play here. Not even the fake kind. "Huh. That's awfully clever. Detective-level, surely." He's never been more stumped after having the cards shown to him face-up before. It made sense now, why the boy took the time to think.

The boy maintained his brightness. "Well, I _do_ love a good mystery," he admitted. Math was easily his favorite subject. Any unknown variable was easily manipulated in his hands to reveal its true value. He gazed deep into Gideon, past his eyes and past his mind. "In fact, one just arrived recently."

All at once, his lightheartedness dropped from his face and he quickly walked away before Gideon had the chance to ask what he meant. Gideon watched him leave before he ran to catch up with Pacifica. In hindsight, he had the choice to go after the enigmatic boy instead, but he couldn't abandon his cousin for some smart stranger he just met. He just met Pacifica, too, but at least they had their bond as cousins tying them together. Gideon was certain that the boy would've easily brushed him off. It was a shame—he was equally charming as he was skittish.

Pacifica continued her commentary of everything around them, ignoring their run-in with the so-called magician. She threw around claims backed up by impeccable reasoning. Her weaker ones contained mostly conjecture, as the boy had called it, yet her rhetoric persuaded Gideon to take it as the truth. What couldn't be disproven was taken as fact and what could be proven was taken for future testing. She filled in a "big sister" role easily with the way she talked down to him to pass down her wisdom. Plans were mapped out for hunting and experiments and data collection and Gideon couldn't help but remark that she and the magician sounded like they would be good friends.

Gideon was surprised when her expression twisted in repulsion towards the idea. To him, she came across as a sweet girl who would befriend anyone in her path. "Why do you say that?" she asked.

"You both like mysteries, and I reckon you're both lookin' for the same one," he responded innocently.

She gave him a patronizing pat over his hat. "Oh, Gideon—that's a nice conclusion, but simply impossible. He's half the mystery I'm investigating!"

He was left at another cliffhanger. It seemed that both mystery-lovers were fond of explaining in detail, then cutting off their elaboration before Gideon was able to put one and one together. They would surely be the best of friends if she gave him a chance. It was assumed that Pacifica would move on to another passing topic, a pattern he noticed in her, until she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and unexpectedly pulled out a business card.

Gideon peeked at it and read the curly font out loud. "'The Telepathy Twins: make your money disappear'?" They were going to have to work on that. The logo was a minimalist design of a blue triangle with one eye—the Eye of Providence, Gideon recognized. The background had a silver metallic shine to it. As sleek as the design was, he didn't think the Telepathy Twins were running a very sound business practice. There were no showtimes, no locations, and no contact information listed. Their real advertising was presumably word of mouth. He deemed the card a waste of paper until it was flipped.

Pacifica stared at the blue ink handwriting on the back of the business card in confusion. An uppercase P, a lowercase d, the number eight, and a capital Q were squished together. A tiny equal sign was squished in between the eight and the Q. Next to it, two question marks were underlined. "That parlor trick boy thinks he's slick, doesn't he?" she sneered. Passion burned within her, as fiery as a thousand suns. "How _pathetic!_ "

Gideon took the card to see for himself, holding it up to the light and tilting it to the side. Turning it about didn't help him understand the message any better. It wasn't a dollar bill he could test its validity for by looking for a watermark. "So, what does it mean?"

Pacifica snatched it back. "Well, clearly it means…" Her chin was up in the air and her back straightened, drenched in the confidence of her answer. Optimistically, she confessed, "I don't know! But it also means I won't rest until I do know."

* * *

She wasn't kidding.

Back at their shared room, the odd combination of symbols was scrawled over every loose scrap of paper she knew she would never use again. It was written big and small and backwards and vertically and scrambled in every possible combination until it was tattooed to both of their minds. The seven symbols prompted stories, pictures, mnemonic devices, songs, and screaming. Every time she came up with a feasible solution, she shot it down before she could finish telling it to him. Her long ponytail whipped about as she gesticulated wildly. As entertaining as it was to watch his cousin fuss over the meaningless mess, it didn't take long for the palavering to bore Gideon.

She kept him captive during this phase until he finally wrangled his way out of her chokehold when he volunteered to hang advertisement signs in the woods for his dad. Business was slow despite the fact that the Auto Shack was literally the only place in town one could buy a car. Bud accepted it as a given due to their lack of prior advertising and build-up towards the grand opening, but that would change soon. Customers would come pouring in when word got out, he was sure. It's all a part of business, he told Gideon.

What good it would do to hang signs where nobody would see them, Gideon had no clue, but the vast solitude gave him thinking room. Most of his thoughts lamented over how creepy the woods were. He blinked and saw ice blue eyes staring back at him behind his eyelids. He felt watched. It could be the boy from earlier or a wolf or even a monstrous personification of his paranoia—he wasn't in Texas, anymore. Anything could happen.

His heart pounded at the same rate as when he had smaller and feared monsters in his closet and hid under his covers. Growing up meant that he knew now that a blanket couldn't have protected him from any monster. He willed himself to accept whatever fate awaited him within the shadows, which would clearly be nothing because he was overreacting. It wasn't too dark thanks to the light leaking past the tree leaves.

Regardless, he didn't want to be stuck in the woods all day he knew his efforts would be fruitless anyway. He had been dedicated enough at first to scatter the rest of the signs, but the rest he would nail to a single tree. As luck had it, the tree he chose wasn't actually a tree. He yelped when he heard the metal clang under the nail and hammer. Both dropped on his foot and cued a louder cry. In frustration, he kicked the tree with his injured foot, which only managed to aggravate the injury but also confirmed, through waves of disharmony ringing off the point of impact, that solid metal was in front of him.

He wiped off a layer of dust from the peculiar mock-tree. As soon as felt a ridge beneath his fingers, connections bridged in his mind. It was a hollow hiding space. He opened up the compartment. Hinges squeaked. Inside was a dusty box-like contraption with switches and an antenna framed by cobwebs without spiders. Curiosity begged him to test it out. Despite his uneasiness, he acquiesced, hoping it wouldn't work. He clicked the switches. The first one he tried out yielded no results, but the second one scared off a wandering goat. Another compartment opened up behind him, next to a fallen tree, as abandoned and forgotten as the one in the tree.

He prayed to every god he knew, even the fake ones. " _Please don't be a dead body, please don't be a dead body, please don't be a dead body_ …"

It wasn't a corpse, but he screamed anyway because of the crawling centipedes that emerged from the new compartment. A thick book laid under more dust and cobwebs. He blew off the grime to reveal a shiny gold six-fingered hand with the number three on it. He opened it up. How convenient-the name of the author was ripped off before Gideon could read who the third volume of the book was the property of. He hated mysteries, if he had to be honest. Yet, one had just arrived if only to spite him.

The monocle inside was supposed to be a kind of bookmark, he guessed. Some diaries similarly had ribbons. He turned to the first entry where, lo and behold, the date June 18 taunted him once more. Fate hated him and he hated fate back. "'It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began studying the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls, Oregon,'" he whispered to himself. He flipped and skimmed through more entries—what was all that? Floating eyeballs, gnomes, cursed doors? He's heard of cursed chairs before, but never doors.

"'Unfortunately, my suspicions have been confirmed. I'm being watched. I must hide this book before He finds it.'" He as in God or He as in the devil? Memories flashed of his old pastor's overzealous preaching of man's sins. Gideon has always hated going to church. He respected religion, but not the Puritan-like community he lived in. If anyone knew about his interest in the occult there, he was certain he would've been burned at the stake. "'Remember—in Gravity Falls, there is no one you can trust.'"

He slammed the book shut. "... no one you can trust?" he repeated. That was a little extreme.

" _Gideon!_ " Pacifica yelled. She popped up behind him on top of the fallen log.

He screamed, almost dropping the journal before he regained a proper hold on it and held it close to himself. He wished she would stop doing that.

"I've been so rude! I told you all of _my_ theories, but I still haven't asked about your thoughts on what P-d-8-equals-Q-question mark-question mark means. I could use another head to—hey, what's that you've got there?"

Gideon hid the book behind his back. It wouldn't hurt to take a leaf from the author's book and keep his findings a secret. There was no way he could let her get her hands on such a _mysterious_ journal. "There's nothin' important behind my back!" He wouldn't sleep for months if he did. "It's just, uhh… my diary. I have a _lot_ of feelings."

"Um, okay?" Pacifica shrugged it off. She wasn't one to judge—she had an entire archive of fanfictions hidden under her bed. "So, what do _you_ think about P-d-8-equals-Q-question mark-question mark?"

One-track mind, one-track heart. Gideon has never been more grateful to have his feelings disregarded before. "I dunno, why don't you just go to the magic show? You might get a hint there."

Pacifica was about to write off the idea as garbage, but then two pieces of the puzzle connected. It was absolutely blind of her to forget that the message was written on the back side of a business card for a reason. That rascal pulled a genius business ploy over her. She and Gideon were the only ones in the entire town that haven't fallen for the Telepathy Twins' scam. A riddle was the only way to tempt her into their tent, and tempt it did.

Victory was worth two $16.80 tickets.

* * *

 **57 68 65 6e 20 79 6f 75 20 72 75 6e 20 61 6e 64 20 68 69 64 65 2c 20 6e 6f 62 6f 64 79 20 77 69 6c 6c 20 74 61 6b 65 20 79 6f 75 72 20 73 69 64 65 2e 20**

* * *

 **Vigenère? Atbas** h **? Ca** e **sar? Ha! I laugh at that** **—it would be e** x **ceptionally dull to stick the s** a **me old same old routines. If you choose, I'll expose you to other methods of** d **eciphering.** **It is my belief that proper d** e **velopment occurs when there are no limits. I do not _bind_ myself to one pie** c **e. This is no canon. That's better su** i **ted for a wedding. (Canon in D lol.) This is no short lyrical etude, either. This is a piece I co** m **pose out of my horror of never being he** a **rd. Alas, there is little I can say to someone who does not want to** l **isten. For example, probably nobody cares about Gideon's favorite color and probably nobody will look up its exact shade.**

 **Questions? Comments? Concerns? Tell me in the reviews! Please, feedback means so much to fanfiction authors. It takes a lot of time and energy and imagination to write and yes, we know exactly how many people visit our stories in the traffic stats. One review is worth a thousand views to many writers. Nobody will know if you leave multiple anonymous reviews under different names btw just throwing that out there.**

 **I may be heading off to school in eight hours, but it's concert season. I have too much time. Marching season sucks away all of it in the summer and fall hahaha. If you're curious about some of the concepts for my story, I'll be happy to spill a few beans. By the way, I totally recommend taking a listen to the namesake song of this story. It's Antonin Dvorak's Symphony No. 9 in E Minor "From The New World," Op. 85, B. 178. It's split up into four movements: Adagio, Largo, Scherzo, and Allegro con fuoco. The first four chapters of this story will be based on those movements. The other ones will probably be named after other pieces I like. Strauss' Nocturno Op. 7 will probably pop up just because I like it. And, yes, there will be room for gayness, if that happens to be a concern. My role model Andrew Hussie taught me that there can always be room for gay.**


	2. II: Largo

**From The New World**

 **Second Movement: Largo**

 **(Alternate Title: "The Hand That Rocks The Ladle")**

* * *

Gideon flipped back and forth through the contents of the journals, unsure of what to do with the information at his disposal. The symbols fascinated him. Excitement sparked in his chest whenever he was able to recognize one. But he was in the dark for most of them. The gibberish language, too, eluded him. He had no doubts that the seemingly-random combinations of letters were intentional.

The journal was amazing. Gideon suspected that Pacifica was paranoid, but according to the book, Gravity Falls had a secret, dark side. Pacifica would never shut up if he ever showed it to her. More so, after a certain point, the pages just stop, as if the guy who was writing it _mysteriously_ disappeared…

He hung upside down on the living room armchair, beckoning the blood to rush to his head, as if it would help him decide what to do with the journal. None of it could possibly be true. He flipped to a random page to prove his point—gnomes, little men of the Gravity Falls forest. The writer of the book sure had a lot of imagination, Gideon knew that much. The material in the book was enough to base a movie on, or perhaps a lighthearted romcom show, say, one where a naive girl accidentally marries a colony of gnomes in need of a new matriarch and has silly adventures every day with her tiny husbands. That sounded wonderfully innocent and suitable for audiences of all ages.

Yet, even Gideon couldn't resist the same vice that led Pandora to unleash horrors upon the world. He was curious about what he could do with his new knowledge. He had no doubts that the contents of the journal was real. Pacifica and that boy were on to something, and the journal was proof of it.

He studied the gnome page more closely. "Weakness unknown, huh?" he contemplated aloud. Perhaps these little men were more dangerous than they first appeared if any foils were undetected. The forest was just beyond the front door. Gideon could see for himself if this gnome nonsense was true or not, become their 'queen', use them as a personal army or something. He hadn't a clue what he could possibly do with an army of gnomes. World domination, maybe. That sounded nice.

He was shocked out of his ruminations by the doorbell. He fell out of his position on the armchair onto the floor, the journal dropping onto his face in the process. He wobbled as he stood up thanks to how long he was upside-down. Pacifica beat him to the door before he was able to regain his balance.

Gideon couldn't see who was at the door since his cousin was blocking his line of sight, but he overheard the banter she had with the visitor. Apparently, the conversation was intended to be private, from the hushed tones both used while arguing back and forth about some issue regarding Gideon. Instead of immediately revealing his location, Gideon attempted to catch what they were saying about him. It was hard to figure out the topic when they kept interrupting each other.

"I canceled the show for—"

"Dipper, I think you're—"

"He's literally right—"

"I don't care, because this isn't—"

"— _Yes, it is._ "

With that, the conversation ended, and both parties finally acknowledged Gideon's presence. Said boy sheepishly waved at the guest, obviously hiding the heavy journal behind his back. Pacifica opened the door wider and let Dipper inside. Gideon was surprised to see him holding a gorgeous bouquet of pink freesias. A twig stuck out of his black hoodie, which was now fully zipped up, along with tufts of grass sticking to his sleeves. Weirdly, he was also donning formal black slacks and shiny dress shoes. His disheveled appearance gave the impression that he had looted a grave for the flowers, as was common practice during the Great Depression. If not stolen from the dead, they would've been left to rot until the cemetery directors collected them and tossed them in the garbage.

As soon as they met each other's gaze, Dipper looked away. "'S-Sup?" he greeted, voice cracking. He cleared his throat and repeated himself in an exaggerated deeper voice to play off his crack. "'Sup?" He kept his eyes focused on the large object non-inconspicuously hidden behind Gideon's back.

Gideon glanced between Dipper and Pacifica, unsure of how to react. "Howdy?" Cute magician boys don't just show up on the doorstep for no reason. "... Dipper, is it?" He prayed that the boy was here to sweep Pacifica off her feet and out of Gideon's hair. He already had a ship name for them: _the mystery lovers._ Maybe they could squeal over Arthur Conan Doyle novels and gnome theories together, but, like, _out_ of Gideon's earshot.

He nodded, then held out the bouquet towards Gideon. A blush involuntarily rose to his cheeks. "L-Let's, uh… Let's hang out today," he suggested hesitantly. He attempted to brush off the offer as casual, something that he didn't plan out hours in advance with elaborate lists and diagrams. "I have nothing else to do."

Gideon accepted the flowers with one hand and took a deep inhale of their fragrance. He wondered if there was something in the journal that would help him interpret this encounter. Sure, the flowers could simply be a welcoming gift, but the sheepish charm Dipper had said otherwise. Boys didn't ask to hang out with each other with a bouquet of pink flowers—maybe girls did, Gideon wouldn't know, but certainly not boys who played football and went to church every Sunday. Did Gravity Falls even have a church?

Gideon tried to approach the subject with as much tact as he could. "Is there a special reason why you're called _Dipper?_ " Back where he's from, a "dipper" could mean two things, and Gideon wasn't referring to the constellation.

" _Friends_ , Gideon," Dipper emphasized. "We're going to hang out as friends..."

Gideon was relieved until Dipper amended his statement.

"... y-you know, as _boys_ who are _friends?_ "

He gave up on finding a clear answer in Dipper and sought Pacifica's reaction to the ordeal. She seemed annoyed, from the way she crossed her arms, but Gideon couldn't decide whether it was because of Dipper's presence in general or the implications that floated around. Or, perhaps Gravity Falls was a lot more liberal than Houston and Gideon was overthinking everything. As disappointed as he was that the mystery lovers weren't going to unite, he was still interested in a free meal. What was better, an army of gnomes or a cute magician boyfriend?

"Don't wait up," Gideon told his cousin in advance.

He tried not to think about her disapproving frown before he slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Dipper took Gideon's hands in his and gazed intensely into the other boy's eyes. "You know I like you, right?" He caressed Gideon's hands gently, smoothing his fingers over every callous and crease and papercut—all fresh information to read. Undertones of fear twitched within his soft tone. There were only a few seconds of eye contact before Dipper seemed to have found whatever he was looking for, and glanced around him for any spectators. Nobody was around besides the two of them, together, and that scared him even more.

" _Umm_ …"

Gideon could hear static all over again. It was silent enough to hear his ears ring. He, in fact, did _not_ know that Dipper liked him. He was hardly aware of Dipper's name until he heard his cousin call him that a few minutes ago. Pieces were scattered before him and he was never a fan of puzzles, yet, apparently that was all he would ever get in Gravity Falls: a puzzle wrapped in a riddle written in a cryptogram locked under a three-digit code found in a journal deep in the creepy woods. He didn't want to adapt to a new way of thinking; it wasn't like he asked for any of this peculiarity when he wanted a new start. If it was implied, he wasn't unaware that his wish went to a bored genie.

The separation of their hands was like an unexpected gust of wind sweeping a stack of papers away.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Gideon hadn't meant to imply rejection with his hesitance. He was dumbstruck, and, well… _dumbstruck._ Yes, dumbstruck and dumbstruck. That was the best he could think of at the moment.

Dipper started walking away and Gideon could only assume that he was supposed to follow. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I like you just the way you are, you know?"

Again, Gideon did not know that, or where they were going, for that matter.

"It's fine if you don't know. We're going into town, by the way. There's nowhere else to go from the Shack, unless you want to go into the woods."

… Either Gideon was thinking out loud or Dipper truly did possess a sixth sense. He wasn't sure what he expected from someone who worked at a place called the "Tent of Telepathy." Yet, he still held skepticism. Dipper had proved before that thought-out reasoning passed for a gullible boy's magic and Gideon preferred to not let it be proved again. He felt stupid enough the first time. Psychics, fake or not, were supposed to be sensitive to body language and emotions. It was only natural for Dipper to reassure him.

The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon explained it all—coincidences aligned due to selective attention. It was the same reason why his life suddenly felt centered around mysteries, as if a few oddities on his first day foreshadowed an entire summer of weirdness. Nothing had to mean anything. Dipper didn't need a reason to like Gideon and just the way he was. Emotions are based on perception, constantly varied by factors as frivolous as color or a worm in an apple. Forward into town they went, not that it mattered what direction or path they took to what direction. Time was well-wasted either way.

They followed the dirt path to town. Paradoxically, Gideon forced himself to relax. He wasn't anything like his cousin so he most certainly, definitely, and absolutely not search for legitimate evidence proving that Dipper had ESP the entire day. Instead, he focused on one specific thought. It wasn't bait to observe how the independent variable would stimulate a certain response from Dipper. He was genuinely briefly distracted by the fleeting reminder of a musical he saw once by the title _Into The Woods._ Personally, he preferred the movie version. "The woods _can_ be a dangerous place…" In hindsight, his first thought should have jumped to his earlier experience when he was actually in the woods Dipper spoke of, but songs were catchier.

Dipper perked up. "I was thinking of _Into The Woods,_ too! You must be psychic, or something."

Oh, the irony. Thought, it's not as if Gideon had any growing paranoia of whether or not Dipper was feigning an innocent common interest. "What's your favorite song?"

"Oh, I don't know any of them by title..."

"What about the lyrics?"

"Ah, not really…"

Gideon was on the edge of his patience. "Did you actually _see_ it?" He could never understand the poor, soulless people who see a play without learning every single lyric and line of every character. When the chorus is stuck in your head, it means it's good enough to learn the entire song. Dipper was an actor, whether he acknowledged it or not, and _every_ Thespian had to be well-versed in more than the overused Shakespearean tragedies.

"Do you know what drum corps is?" Dipper asked.

Gideon had a feeling Dipper was trying to change the subject, but he went along with it to see how stupid Dipper thought he was. "Like military drum and bugle corps?"

Dipper was glad he didn't have to simplify the concept down to a marching band minus the woodwinds. "Yeah, but not necessarily for the military. There's a world-class drum corps called the Blue Devils, and their show last year featured music from _Into The Woods._ I think you'd really like it."

Translation: Dipper was a _band_ geek, not a theater geek. It made sense. He looked like a low brass kind of guy, maybe a tuba player? Baritone, maybe. Gideon decided his excuse for not having all the songs memorized was somewhat legitimate, but that didn't mean he would let him get away with it. "I'll watch the Blue Devils if you watch _Into The Woods._ "

Dipper wasn't opposed to them hopping into each other's worlds, but the deal was disproportionate. "Seriously? You watch twelve minutes and I watch an entire hour?"

"I have the DVD. We can watch it together in my… _Oh_."

Gideon realized too late the full implications of his proposal. They hadn't even reached town, yet, and he was already suggesting a follow-up movie date. He noticed then that he and Dipper were walking side-by-side with their steps unintentionally synchronized. Left with left, right with right, at an even tempo. They couldn't have been moving too fast. If they were, he couldn't see the harm in it as long as they were on the same beat. Town wasn't too far, though.

"Is something wrong?" Dipper asked.

"It's nothing," Gideon insisted, "except that I don't have anything to play the DVD on. Do you happen to know someone whose laptop we could borrow?"

The two people that Dipper automatically associated with technology made him cringe. "What about your cousin? She's loaded."

"Inebriated?" The second definition Gideon was ready to suggest had to do with potatoes and cheese.

Dipper rolled his eyes. He assumed Gideon was playing dumb for humorous effect. " _Affluent_ , duh."

"But she works below minimum wage and my dad's business has probably gotten negative customers since the grand opening."

Dipper's assumption was evidently wrong. He shrugged. "It's fine if you don't know."

* * *

There was something about _both_ of the boys that didn't seem right and their combination didn't help relieve the uneasiness she felt. Pacifica decided to consult Robbie.

Robbie Stacey Valentino, 16 years old, worked at the Auto Shack as a tech guy. He was an alto in his school's choir and his voice was, in Pacifica's opinion, _heavenly._ His parents were in charge of putting the dead to rest, but his ambition was keeping the living alive as a cardiologist like the angel he was. He played the guitar, maintained a steady 4.3 GPA, would've been sent to an embalming camp if Pacifica's uncle hadn't hired him, wore sweater vests daily, was a mural artist, and Pacifica probably knew way too much about him than what was healthy.

Every once in a while, Robbie made for a good investigation partner and was one of the few fellow theorists she knew. He helped her concoct the theory that explained why their employer never talked about his family. All they knew was that Bud was divorced and didn't keep in contact with his ex-wife. It wasn't until recently that they discovered someone would start living with him, but Bud never stated who it would be or for what reasons. Robbie came up with the theory that it would be his ex-wife that would start living with him after being haunted by their son's recent death, but that was crushed as soon as Gideon arrived.

She stomped in the Auto Shack lobby angrily, where Robbie was typing away at his laptop. As soon as he heard her loud steps of distress, he halted his work. "Oh, hey Pacifica! Did you hear about your cousin making the news?" He switched to a tab of an online Gravity Falls Gossiper article titled "Little Dipper's Little Boyfriend?" and turned the laptop towards her. The picture depicted the boys holding hands. Gideon waved innocently at the camera, seemingly enjoying the attention, while Dipper covered his face with a hand.

Pacifica gaped. In the few hours he's been in Gravity Falls, her cousin was already on celebrity gossip news. She scrolled through the article curiously and read aloud. "'Despite his short stature, Li'l Gideon claims to be the older in the couple...' 'Dipper is also fully aware of this fact'?" She was baffled by the quote. Gideon looked ten, at most. Supposedly, his real age was a number she wouldn't believe, but she assumed that meant he was a lot younger than he appeared. The entire interview was loaded with similar nonsense. "Gideon isn't a fan of garlic? He's not religious? He's more of a night person? _Who cares?_ "

"Dipper does," Robbie answered. The teen highlighted a line that literally said that not many people would care about such small details about his boyfriend, but Dipper did, and he hoped to learn _all_ of Gideon's secrets. Robbie gestured to the crystal vase he picked out for the pink freesias Dipper brought earlier. "Did you know that freesias mean 'trust' in the Victorian flower language?"

Pacifica scoffed at the word— _trust_. There was only one T-word she hated as much as trust, and that was _truce._ She took a closer look at the highlighted sentence. It was clear to her that whatever it was that Dipper sought, Gideon was the key to finding it. Gravity Falls was a small town and, as such, there were a few maxims every resident was seemingly born knowing, from the advice that Lazy Susan Charges Less To Polite Customers to the fact that Nobody Likes Toby Determined. _Everybody_ knew that The Pines Are Shady. As entertaining as their family was, it was common sense not to linger around them too long, lest strange happenings happen.

She didn't blame her cousin for not knowing, being new to town and all, but she thought it awfully low for Dipper to take advantage of Gideon's naivety. "Dipper is _not_ what he seems!" The back-and-forth pacing started again. First the code on the back of the business card, then a date with her cousin, and now Dipper wants to know all of Gideon's secrets. "Ugh, what could he possibly _see_ in Gideon?" she wondered. All the pieces were in front of her and all there was left was to put together the big picture.

Robbie shrugged. As someone knowledgeable in cardiology, it was his professional opinion that the situation was a matter of the heart. He'd hate to rain on her parade, though. "Well, first thing's first, you can't assume if you have something big to prove. I was the same way when I suspected one of the bodies my parents were working on had its kidneys sold for money."

Interested in the tale, she stopped in her tracks. "So what did you do?"

He partially pulled down his pants for the purpose of demonstration. "Well, first I made an incision at the—"

Her face twisted into a surly expression of disgust. "Spare me the details."

Robbie was disappointed to have his story cut short, but he decided the moral was left intact. "What I'm trying to say is that you need cold, squishy proof, or else people accuse you of being some kind of 'sick, bloodthirsty weirdo' that 'digs through corpse guts for fun.' I'll admit that it was nice practice for when I get accepted into medical school, but—"

"— _ThanksRobbiegottagobye!_ "

* * *

The musky smell of cork grease and wood brought Gideon back to a spring from his early childhood, when his father first started to teach him how to play the piano. Back then, his quaint piano was in tune. The average cost to get a piano re-tuned was around $100 and ranged up to $200 at most, and it's recommended to re-tune it every six months, four if it's new to break in the strings. The pitch goes flat regardless of how often it is played due to the extremely high string tension. Re-stringing costs more than the piano itself. Gideon didn't want to imagine the cost of other trivialities: sticky keys, mold, rust, rats... He does not recall his old piano ever getting repaired or re-tuned. He didn't know much about the instrument itself other than how to play it, so he was under the impression that it had value as long as it was mostly functional. He hated to think that the piano was sitting alone in its room at that very moment, collecting dust.

He sat at the shiny grand piano in front of him while Dipper wandered elsewhere (after adjusting the stool's height to accommodate his own). Being in a music store, Gideon didn't need a tuner to know that the instrument in front of him wouldn't be flat. This store had quality products, unlike his father. He lifted the cover off the keys. His most recent reason to resent his father was his failing business. Of all the commodities to choose, Bud _had_ to choose to sell cars in a small town where everything was walking distance. It may be a respectable and "manly" profession, but it wasn't profitable. _Why cars? Why Gravity Falls?_ Gideon smashed the keys in anger, stomping at the pedal so that his emotions could properly reverberate throughout the store.

Dipper reappeared with a concert tuba and a stack of sheet music. "'Do you want to know—"

Astonished that there were suddenly answers to the questions plaguing him, he released the keys and pedal. "There's a _real_ reason why?" he asked, eyes widened.

Dipper shook his head. "No, 'Do you want to know a secret?' by the Beatles. It's a duet. I've never heard of the song 'There's a real reason why' before."

Gideon rested his fingers on a minor chord. He laughed softly to himself. That was funny. He legitimately expected Dipper to know what he was thinking. But maybe he did, and he was just hiding it. "How did you know I played piano?"

Dipper smiled brightly, the same way he did when he explained how he knew Gideon and Pacifica were cousins. The answer, this time, was simple. "You have the hands for it. I'm sure you knew I played the tuba, too."

Gideon lazily drifted up the C scale. He should've expected scrutinization whenever Dipper linked their hands together. Fake psychics were observers, and hands were books to them. There was a lot to read in one's hands. "How can we just allocate certain traits to people without proof, though? I don't even have good piano hands. My fingers are chubby and you look too small to handle such a big instrument."

Dipper took a seat next to him on the piano stool, resting the tuba on his leg. "That's called 'conjecture.' It doesn't make sense, but it feels right, so you trust it." The sheet music was placed on the stand of the piano.

Gideon accidentally hit a crooked combination of two notes before he could successfully conclude his scale. An entire orchestra and thousand-person choir played Ode To Joy in his mind. The epiphany had the power of a million horns ripping during a trumpet fanfare. _That_ was the appeal of mysteries! It was like writing a song to completion, like memorizing every song in a musical, like deciphering the chords in a certain progression by ear, like composing a symphony, like harmonizing information in a way that created something entirely new…

He felt as clear as a stuffy nose with a humidifier. "So Pacifica's craziness is just a different manifestation of that feeling?"

Dipper rolled his eyes. " _Ugh…_ " He clicked the keys on the tuba. "Your cousin is a flame who thinks she's the Sun just because she attracts a few moths. All offense intended."

Gideon took no offense whatsoever. He could personally attest to Pacifica's self-centeredness. He hadn't even spent an entire day with her and he was already wondering how he was supposed to share a room with her for who knows how long. Being around her was draining because it was all about her and what she wanted. Even when Gideon slipped a few of his own opinions in, they were for her sake.

"She just doesn't _understand_ people… Isn't that a lonely life? To never understand, to never be understood?" Dipper rested one hand on the piano keys, lightly skimming over the black keys. An only child would never understand the plight of twins, after all. " _I_ understand that you're a music person. It's how you think." He attempted a D-flat scale. If he remembers correctly, the formula for a major scale is whole step, whole step, half step, whole step, whole step, whole step, half step. The piano gave the quintessential visual for music theory. "We could make a lot of beautiful music together."

Gideon sifted through the papers Dipper brought. They were all piano and tuba duets. How romantic. He couldn't think of a better way to understand another person than through complete and utter harmonization. A mixed-in page from a score for Symphony No. 9 Op. 95 caught his attention. "Are you familiar with Dvořák?" he teased. Tubas were only included in the second movement of the symphony, in which they sustained long notes. The other three movements were disappointingly tuba-less, unless it was Robert Ryker's arrangement.

Dipper tucked the page behind the other papers. "As familiar as french horns are with John Philip Sousa." John Philip Sousa, inventor of the sousaphone, was the reason why french horns were sick to nausea with offbeats in marches. "Pick a song, any song!" he beckoned, in a traditional magician's manner. "Except that one."

There was a good variety to choose from: sonatines, concert pieces, pop songs, rock songs, songs from musicals, songs from movies, and a few abstract pieces he skimmed through skeptically. Yet, reverse psychology tempted him. "I like that symphony, though." He had a piano version of the second movement memorized, too.

" _Seriously?_ "

Gideon played the first chord to prove just how serious he was.

"Song-picking privileges _lost_ ," Dipper responded. He spread out the sheets of his own choosing, instead. "We're doing Viva la Vida."

"I was kidding! Come on, that song is so overplayed."

"We're doing Viva la Vida."

"What about 4'33?"

" _Viva la Vida_. Now look over the music while I warm up and tune."

* * *

Pacifica was convinced that her cousin was under a spell. There was no other explanation for the way they played together, the way they harmonized, the way they synchronized—all without the need for a metronome. She wasn't gathering evidence, anymore; she was recording a performance. She hid behind a shelf of piano books. It was almost embarrassing to watch them.

Gideon sang softly as he played, intending only for Dipper to hear. " _I used to rule the world, seas would rise when I gave the word…_ " The tempo would have been unbearably slow for anyone else, fifty beats per minute at most, but for them, it was the best pace to give justice to every note. Gideon lifted his hands lightly at the end of each phrase, as if he were caressing the piano. Pacifica wouldn't have known he was sight-reading if not for his heavy reliance on the sheet music. " _Now in the morning I sleep alone, sweep the streets I used to own…_ "

The long tones floated soulfully out of the tuba, making it evident that Dipper had a lot of practice. His posture was straight, but he relaxed into the song like his natural state of being was playing. Crescendos and decrescendos added longing in the context of the lyrics.

" _I used to roll the dice, feel the fear in my enemy's eyes_ …" As Gideon became more familiar with the chords and chord progression, he added more notes to what he played to give a fuller sound. He gradually increased the tempo the more he became comfortable. Dipper caught on with no hesitation. " _Listen as the crowd would sing: 'Now the old queen is dead. Long live the queen!'_ "

Pacifica was briefly distracted by that line. The lyric was wrong. It should've been king, not queen. She let it slide, since it fit well with the rhyme scheme and it was likely that Gideon hadn't heard the song in a while.

Dipper matched style Gideon cued: from legato to staccato, from grand to gentle, from mournful to romantic. It had to be a spell. Hours ago, they were strangers, and now, they were running on the same energy to create something more than the both of them. Pacifica didn't miss the glances they cast at each other while they thought the other wasn't looking or their legs casually touching under the piano, as if it were only natural that they were close together. She had stepped through the looking glass into a wonderland of emotions she couldn't all make sense of. There, she could experience a sliver of what they saw in each other.

It was so obvious that she hated herself for missing it before.

 _Mind control through a music spell_. Genius. Luckily, she has dealt with these kinds of situations before. All she had to do was play it in reverse a million times and listen to the real message. Then, Dipper's plot would be exposed and Pacifica would have… bragging rights, she guessed. Plus, Gideon would be out of Dipper's evil clutches. Robbie would be impressed with her for putting his words of wisdom to good use. She would have never thought that the cold, squishy proof she wanted was a well-known pop song by Coldplay.

The proof was a lot warmer and softer than she expected, but it only served to prove her hypothesis even more. Dipper was seducing her _widdle_ cousin. She had to say, he had tact. The display in front of her disgusted her as much as it would have if their hands were intertwined on a candlelit dinner. Not even an hour, and Dipper had Gideon wrapped around his finger. Well, not for long. Dipper may have a shiny tuba and a catchy chorus, but she had something better. She had the _truth_ , and she had seen enough.

* * *

Gideon sat in front of the full-length mirror in his now-shared room with Pacifica, his fingers splayed out in front of him on an invisible piano. His reflection is concealed by pages of sheet music taped up. While he fingered through the notes on the papers, he thought back to the old piano he had back home again. Even when he was there, it had been collecting dust. It had been months since he played it. He used to sit down at the stool with his hands hovering just above the keys, piano book turned to a random song, and stare. The same thoughts were running through his mind and they were louder than the discordant noise of him laying his head on the piano. He had no other way to express himself.

It sounded a lot worse out loud than in his mind, but maybe he didn't _need_ to express himself. That wasn't to say he needed to suppress himself. What he was trying to say was that he should allow himself to step out of himself, even his fake selves, and express concepts, instead. He had never felt a song so strongly before as he did with Dipper. It only took him a verse to figure out exactly what 'Pd8=Q?' meant.

The connections were so blatant he hated himself for missing it before.

Really, it was undeniable to him that Dipper was a _genius_. To concoct such a scheme in a relatively short amount of time and put it into action instantly was a wonder. The namesake of the song Viva la Vida came from a famous painting by Mexican artist Frida Kahlo, with the same title. He had polio, a broken spine, and a decade of chronic pain. Ironically, "viva" was a Spanish word used to acclaim someone or something. The symbolism behind the song title translated to acclaiming life whilst in the throes of pain. Dipper's code warned with the same sentiments.

When Pacifica suddenly burst into the room, polaroid camera around her neck and video camera in her hand, Gideon wondered whether it was best to tell Pacifica the answer or let her come to her own realizations at her own pace. There were still scraps of theories behind the code on her side of the room.

"Gideon, we've _gotta_ talk about Dipper," she announced.

He laughed. There was a lot to talk about, in that case. "Isn't he the best? Check out this piece he composed." He gestured to the sheet music taped on the mirror. It was for tuba, but he was slowly figuring out the chord progression so he could write a piano accompaniment to go with it.

She tore off one sheet to look at closer, intrigued. "I can't read bass clef."

"I wrote the chords below. Sing it out loud?"

"I don't have perfect pitch."

"... Oh. You want me to sing it for you? It's pretty good, but Dipper was right, it would be more complete with a piano part."

"No, Gideon, _listen._ I'm trying to tell you that Dipper is not what he seems!" She pulled out photographic evidence from her jacket. One photograph showed Dipper gazing lovingly at him while he showed off a little on the piano. The next revealed Dipper rolling his eyes with a bored look in his eyes while Gideon continued showing off a lot more than "a little." The last one depicted Dipper clearly falling asleep while Gideon resumed, you guessed it, showing off on the piano, resting his head on the shorter boy's shoulder. His jacket was off and folded as a makeshift pillow.

Gideon took a closer at the last photo, where a pink marker circled a turquoise amulet on Dipper's ribbon neck tie. Without the black jacket, it was apparent that Dipper had been previously dressed up in preparation for that night's canceled show. He wore dark blue vest over a white button-up along with that peculiar amulet. According to the pink ink, that amulet could possibly be the source of Dipper's powers. "You think he might be…" He gasped for effect, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "... a _psychic?_ " He waved the picture in the air as he gesticulated wildly to convey the sheer surprise he felt from the revelation. "Oh my stars and stripes! Imagine what chaos he could wreak with such abilities! Why, such a gift is a real money-maker. He may even set up a tent—the Tent of Telepathy! _It all makes sense!_ "

"Guess again, cousin…" She whipped out a newspaper clipping. " _Shabam!_ "

He genuinely cried out in surprise this time, astonished by the headline. " _Ah!_ " Since that morning, on the same hour he arrived in Gravity Falls, three citizens have complained of wounded cattle. In all cases, two small punctures were present on the neck, but nothing more. El Chupacabra was a main suspect.

She glanced at the clipping, only to realize she had pulled out the wrong one. "Oh, wait, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She pulled out another one. " _Shabam!_ "

It was an article juxtaposing two interviews Dipper had on the same day. In one, he was heavily emotional and couldn't stop crying. The other, he was aloof and offhandish. In one, he was fascinated with the sinful potentials the human race had to offer. The other, he wanted nothing to do with anyone (except his sister). In one, he loved sweets. The other, the mere mention of sugar sent him rushing to the nearest trash can to vomit. In one, he believed every form of love was a frivolous waste of time and energy better spent building a doomsday device, or something. The other, he declared that the only girl for him was his sister.

"A split personality?" Gideon deduced. As someone who wanted to harness the power of gnomes for his own nefarious purposes, none of what Pacifica said particularly fazed him. It was almost cute how she was only looking at the shallow waters when there was a lot more to see on the ocean floor. He sighed. "Will you get off my case if I tell you what 'Pd8=Q?' means?"

She grabbed him by the shoulders with wide eyes. " _You know?_ " Her hands tightened on him like a vice grip.

He nodded slowly, unsure of whether or not he was making the right decision. "I have a…" He inwardly groaned at the phrase. "... _theory_ about what it all means."

Her smile was too bright and too wide for his liking. He was past the point of no return, now. No backwards glances. The games of run and hide were at an end. " _Tell me!_ "

"On one condition: you let me borrow a laptop or DVD player tonight."

"Yeah, sure, whatever! Just tell me!"

He took in a deep breath. "It's in chess notation. Pawns that make it to the eighth square can be promoted to a queen, which is the most powerful piece on the board, but the two question marks are symbols in chess annotation that commentators use when you make a blunder. He's warning you that gaining too much power will ultimately lead to your loss."

She let go of him. As one case closed, three more opened. "But why did he ask you out?"

He rolled his eyes. "Does everything have to revolve around you, Pacifica? I've got my own life, too, but it looks like that ain't possible with you butting in my life, analyzing who I go out with, questioning my life choices…"

"Okay, geez, sorry! Have fun on your dumb date!"

* * *

Dipper and Gideon traversed the forest in unnatural silence. It reminded Gideon of every warning telling him to trust no one in Gravity Falls. There were poems, riddles, and songs with similar sentiments. They walked on the road less traveled by, where if he fell, nobody would hear. Good things never happened in the woods. It was a shadow realm of the unknown, away from shining civilization with shinier technology. Yet, Gideon had made the foolish decision that he _liked_ Dipper, and that was enough to follow him deeper and deeper.

Gideon surmised that Dipper knew these woods well, though he couldn't pick up why he would assume such a thing. It looked like they were aimlessly wandering around and it felt like they were aimlessly wandering around and they were still technically on Gleeful property. A Pines wouldn't be familiar with Gleeful property, but Gideon was starting to become more comfortable with the idea of making theories. Dipper could be a regular trespasser.

"Bud's house used to belong to Stan," Dipper revealed, out of the blue. He stopped when they arrived at a clearing, where the soft gold of the afternoon warmed them in halo. He kept his back to Gideon. "My sister and I used to visit our Grunkle Stan every summer at his place. He turned his house into a tourist trap called the Mystery Shack…" He laughed nostalgically. "The real mystery was why anybody came."

Oh, how easy it was to shoot down theories. Though, the answer was a lot more interesting than Gideon expected. "Used to?"

"After our parents died in a freak car accident, he became our caretaker. Then, as soon as we started exhibiting our 'special gifts,' the Telepathy Twins became the main attraction. He realized how profitable we were, so he sold the Shack to your dad and we became a traveling freak show. But every summer, we always come back to Gravity Falls."

It was a terrible mistake to like Dipper. It wasn't that Dipper had dead parents—Gideon could sympathize—or that Dipper had mental issues—Gideon could relate—or that Dipper would be sand slipping through his fingers the entire summer, closer to disappearing every second—Gideon could cope. It was the unsaid reason _why_ Dipper would return to Gravity Falls every summer. Knowing never hurt more than it did now because he knew what inevitable truth this spiel was building up to.

Dipper stepped away from him. "I have something to tell you, Gideon. Just… don't freak out." He whipped out a folded piece of paper that unfolded to reveal endless diagrams, notes, glued-in photos, and hypotheses that all pointed to everything Gideon was afraid of.

 _Please don't do it._

"Yes. I know that you're a vampire. Do you, uh, do you need to sit down? Get a glass of cold cattle blood? I know this is a lot to take in, but, well, there it is! Haha… Please don't suck my blood, I have a show tomorrow."

 _Oh my God._ Gideon hated fate and it was obvious that fate hated him back. He couldn't believe he wasted the entire day _not_ enslaving an entire race of little men. Nope, instead, he had some magic tuba boy trying to tell him that he was a vampire. This is what rock bottom felt like. Now he knew why the journal told him to trust no one in Gravity Falls. His dad was an idiot who sold cars in a town where everything was walking distance, his cousin was a weird voyeur that thrived on character inconsistencies, and now his boyfriend thought he was a vampire. He knew he should have been a bottle blonde. He had the perfect shade in mind and everything.

Gideon took in a deep breath, then let it out. Deep breath, then let it out. _It's fine_ , he told himself. _Just let it happen._ "You're right, Dipper. I am a genuine, certified vampire. I was a fool to think I could keep this secret from you, a born genius." He had so many questions regarding _why_ exactly Dipper was eating this up, but he just went with it. From now on, he would roll with the punches. It didn't sound like too hard of a lie to live up to for the rest of the summer. After all, this wasn't the first time he has been accused of being a vampire. At least this time there weren't wooden stakes or garlic. God— _the garlic._ He was so sick of garlic now that he developed an ironic aversion to it. "Fear not, mortal. By your human standards, I am on a vegetarian diet. I only drink animal blood. I mean, are you aware of how poisonous fast food is to human blood? Obesity rates in vampires have skyrocketed thanks to the fast food revolution. Sometimes I settle for coconut water. The war myths were true."

Suddenly, there was a pen in Dipper's hand. "I have. So. Many. Questions."

The incessant clicking would later haunt Gideon in his nightmares.

* * *

 **There it finally is. I've been writing this on infinite repeat since the last time I updated. It's funny, the first chapter only took a day, but this chapter had seven other drafts before I settled on this because I was just really needed to move on. Now I'm halfway through the symphony. Btw the Mabel date is still going to be a thing that happens, but like, "The Hand That Rocks The Ladle" sounds cool.**

 **Fun fact about the New World Sy** m **phony: as alluded to in this chapter, the tuba is only used in the sec** o **nd movement, the _triangle_ is only used in the thi**r **d movement, and the cymbal** s **are only used in the fourth movem** e **nt. And I didn't know this before this draft, but there's also a version called "Goin' Home" which is basically just Largo but with lyrics. The lyrics are pretty irrelevant to this chapter, though, lol. But I think of Largo as a movement of atmosphere, with a little mini reprise of the New World theme. And if you listen to the recording of Largo on YouTube, you can notice some squeaks and intonation problems and I'm a bad person for laughing at it. The "Viva la Vida" song origin thing is legit. I had no idea about it until I saw it on, you guessed it, Wikipedia. They were originally supposed to play Boulevard of Broken Dreams because I found a cool duet on YouTube with the piano and tuba, but Viva la Vida worked out better. On a final note, his chapter's code is relevant to pianos. It makes sense with a little bit of research.**

 **.- / .-.. .. - - .-.. . / .-.. .. . / -.-. .- -. / ... - .- .. -. / .- ... / .- - .-. ... . / .- ... / -... .-.. .- -.-. -.- / -.. -.- . .-.-.-**


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